Scars Remain
by SiliconOverlord27
Summary: Some scars just never go away. They're left there, they define who we've been, and who we are. Sometimes, they're a mark of pride, sometimes, they're a mark of shame. Some are visible, some are not. Jason Brody has plenty of scars after his time on the islands. What do they define him as?
1. Chapter 1

Written during a class that is brain-numbingly boring. Not perfect.

Disclaimer: I don't own Far Cry 3

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Jason Brody awoke with a gasp as his nightmare faded away. The memory of that damned ritual, where he had been given the choice to kill his friends and become a warrior of the Rakyat people. The moment where he'd held that blade to his girlfriends neck, and realized just how far he'd truly fallen. When he had fully grasped how sickeningly easy it had become for him to kill.

How easy it would have been, just to slide that knife across Liza's skin. To draw blood and end her life right then and there, leaving her gasping for her last breaths, hanging away and looking at him with that frightened look of betrayal as her jugular spilled blood faster than anything could hope to stop. His friends screaming at him in horror. How easy would it have been to end lives of those that had driven him to kill in the first place? To wipe his past out of his life?

That's what it had taken for Jason to realize what kind of a monster he'd truly become. It was a state he could never recover from. He could still feel that monster, deep inside. Trying to claw it's way to the surface. Urging him to kill. Would it ever go away? Or would it fight and fight until he just gave in and let it have control of his life again? Could he ever hope to make up for his actions on the islands?

His feet swung off the mattress and landed on the cold floor of the boat beneath him, standing up with the purpose to walk off his nightmare in the small confines of the yacht. Unable to sleep for the rest of the night, he couldn't help but think of the answer to his question. And the only answer he could think of, was a resounding 'no.'.

If there were any way for him to begin to make up for his actions, he could only imagine that it would have to involve keeping his surviving friends and family safe. Even if that meant keeping them safe from himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Update spree!

Disclaimer: Don't own Far Cry 3.

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He held his tongue as Liza Snow walked up behind him. Even as he leaned against the railing of the boat, his new instincts told him she was there. He didn't even need to turn around, or look in her direction to tell her soft, delicate footsteps apart from those of the others. The only other person on the boat who could emulate that, was Daisy. And even her steps were a bit more forceful. They were still on the boat. Still on their way back home, away from the Rook Islands. Away from the nightmare. Towards California.

But the Nightmare didn't feel any further away. It was still there, gnawing at the edges of his mind, even as the boat rocked among the waves. The boat that Daisy and the others had all put together while he was trouncing around the islands on a murderous crusade of self-righteousness, killing practically everything that moved.

"Jason." Even her voice was soft and delicate. And the memory of that knife, held up against her neck flashed across the back of his eyelids. It was but a soft whisper amongst the waves, inaudible to all but the most trained ears. Ears trained by hunting; both man and beast. Ears trained by slinking around groups of pirates or mercenaries to get to an advantageous position. Ears trained undercover within those very mercenaries, an operation that had revealed itself later as a trap from the very beginning.

He had to shake himself from the memories of espionage and murder. Of the horrific bloodshed he now realized he'd participated in. He had to remind himself to reply to Liza. His...girlfriend? Ex? What was she now? He didn't know what they were. He still loved her, but he wasn't good for her. The fact that the monster inside him had basically cheated on her with Citra stood testament to that fact.

Not to mention that he had nearly killed her.

"Liza." He flinched at the sound of his own voice, It was cold, distant. Harsh. Gruff. She didn't deserve that.

"Are you okay?" The question that escaped her lips almost made him burst out into maniacal laughter. Was she really asking that? As if she couldn't tell the answer?

"I think we both know the answer to that, Liza." He answered her, glancing to her out of the corner of his eye.

"Jason, I'm worried about you." She mumbled, hugging her arms closer to her body against the cool night air. That statement alone did cause him to chuckle.

"Liza, I don't know if you realized this. But I held a knife to your throat. Somewhere on that island I turned into a complete monster, and I almost hurt you. I'm not worth worrying about."

He didn't even pretend to try and understand her point of view. Yeah, sure. He had been her boyfriend before the islands. But that had been _before_ the islands. Before he'd killed anyone. Before he held a knife to her throat. Before he watched one brother die and then beat up the other one just for the sake of completing a mission. Somewhere on that hellish island, he had become someone else. He'd become some_thing_ else.

And that thing did not deserve Liza Snow. And he found himself relaxing more than he would prefer to admit when she turned around after a moment of awkward silence and walked away, apparently having no response to his statement. Hopefully, she had labeled him as a lost cause and was now taking the proper steps to cut him out of her life and move on before he hurt her again. He just wanted her to be happy. And his actions on the island, under stress, had proven to him, if not to her, that he was not the person that could make her happy.

And of all the things to look at on this cool night, floating on a yacht in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, on their way back to Southern California, Jason Brody found himself looking down at the stump on his left hand. That missing ring finger.

Highest stakes game of poker in his life.

And somehow, he'd won. So maybe he wasn't all in one piece, but he was alive. And the other guy wasn't. On one hand, it didn't feel like he'd won. Leaving the island with permanent scars, as a broken killer, without a brother, and feeling like he'd betrayed his friends. On the other hand, he felt powerful; he'd won. He was still alive, and he was king of that damned island.

Somewhere, deep down, Jason Brody realized he'd lost the game before he even began to play.

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A/N: If you can find the reference, you get an imaginary cookie.


	3. Chapter 3

Still don't know how I feel about this story, but might as well keep sharing it!

Disclaimer: I still don't own Far Cry 3.

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It was his first night back in LA after the islands when it happened. Walking home from a bar after a couple drinks, trying to drown the memories of his transgressions, when he'd seen it out of the corner of his eye.

A poor guy getting mugged in some dark back alley. He wouldn't even begin to label himself a hero, not after the things he'd done. But the thought of walking by and allowing this to happen caused something inside his stomach to twist in protest. A pair of bloodied fists and some labored breathing later, he was helping the poor son of a bitch off the asphalt while the thugs around him groaned in pain, even in their unconscious state.

That brawl had led him, in the end, to where he was now. Kneeling at the foot of his bed, staring down into the wooden footlocker that held his memories of the island. Those dark tools that he couldn't break away from. His Flare Gun; a perfect tool, be it for causing distractions, signaling for help, or setting fires. The repair torch. The 1911 that Dennis had first gifted him when he'd broken free of Vaas' pirates. The old, but pristine World War II Tanto he'd discovered among the skeleton of a Japanese soldier, and most of all, the beautiful Recurve Bow and accompanying arrows that had become his most trusted weapon throughout his misadventures on the Rook Islands.

As much of an athlete as Jason Brody had been in his life before he'd been captured by Vaas, He had never taken to Archery. And then the islands happened. Either he had a natural talent with the bow, or he was a quick learner. Or maybe he was just extremely lucky. Maybe it was some combination of the three...Actually, that was probably the correct answer, to be honest.

The mental image of the idea that came to him, to appease that growing monster, clawing away at the inside of his soul, and the restless energy that continued to build in his body, feeling like it was emanating from the tattoo that now covered his left arm. A mental image of him running around LA in a Robin Hood outfit, using his Bow and his Tanto to help the unfortunate and bring criminals to justice. The very thought made him snort. Even though he missed that power. That fear he'd brought to the pirates and the mercenaries alike when they realized 'Snow White' was nearby.

He missed it. The feeling of righteousness that had surged through him whenever he'd managed to save one of his friends. That feeling that had overwhelmed him when _Buck _had finally gotten what was coming to him.

As ridiculous as the idea was, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe it was time to get that feeling back.

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A/N: Yes. Seriously.


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